


A New Beginning

by OverlyObsessedFangirl1



Series: Immortal Heart [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverlyObsessedFangirl1/pseuds/OverlyObsessedFangirl1
Summary: You meet the Winchesters





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, all mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out

“4 weeks ago, a family was killed in a fire. Reports say that there were 4 charred corpses, adult male and female, female in her late teens-mid 20s, and a teenage boy. Later, only the parents and son were recovered. Then this girl was killed in a hit-and-run. Witnesses say she flew 20 feet in the air, landing on her head and breaking her neck. On the way to the hospital, she gets up, knocks out the EMTs, and escapes. 2 weeks later, a girl matching her description is stabbed in a bar fight. Assumed dead, again leaves the scene. Then last night, the same girl gets shot in the head during a misfire. Again she walks away.” John dropped another newspaper on the table with each story.

“Zombie?” Dean asked eagerly.

“Could be,” John replied.

“Or it could be a vampire, or a werewolf, or a million other things,” Sam grumbled irritably.

“What’s up with you?”

“We’ve been on the road for 10 days straight. Can’t we stay in one place for a while?” Sam snapped at his brother.

“Well, Sam, now that we have a case, we will,” Dean shot back.

“Enough!” John scolded. “Sam, quit whining. Dean, Sam’s right. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Which means…”

“Research,” the boys responded together.

* * *

You couldn’t believe your luck. You’d been killed 4 times in as many weeks. Granted, you couldn’t die, but still. Not only that, you had just settled in with a new family when the stupid stove blew up. Now, on top of all that, the only road out of town was under construction. Thankfully, you hadn’t interacted with many people before you “died,” so you didn’t really have to flee, but you knew it was only a matter of time before someone recognized you.

Since you were stuck, you figured you might as well study up. You thought that you had learned everything about everything by now, but new monsters just kept popping up. Jogging up the library steps, you almost collided with 2 boys coming out.

“Sorry!” you said, stepping out of the way.

“No, no, sweetheart, we should watch where we’re going,” the older one drawled, running his hand through his hair. He looked about 16. With a start, you realized he was checking you out.

Before you could do anything more than smile, the younger boy (maybe 12?) tugged on his friend’s sleeve.

“Dean, we gotta go meet Dad,” he said.

“Hang on, Sammy,” Dean hissed.

“Dean, _we have_ _to_ _go_.”

You thought you heard a hidden meaning in the boy’s words. Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw something click in Dean’s eyes.

“Go on,” you said, taking a step back towards the doors. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

You turned and entered the building before he could say anything, silently laughing. The poor kid thought his brother just ruined his chance of hooking up with you.

  


A few minutes later found you seated at a table in the back with a stack of lore books. You were so invested you didn’t notice the person approaching until he plopped down in the chair across from you.

“Hi again,” Dean said, making you jump. He chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes widened roamed as they roamed over the books spread out around you.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with stuff like all this?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, just research for a school project,” you lied.

“It’s summer.”

“I’m dual enrolled, and taking a class at the community college.”

“Miss Smarty Pants, huh?” he teased.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked.

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“I thought you had to go meet your dad.”

“The road is closed, so Sammy went with him to find a motel, and I decided to try to get to know the girl we almost ran over.”

“That’s sweet, but I really need to get through this,” you said, turning your attention back to the books.

“So what’s this class on?”

Inwardly sighing, you looked back up.

“Mythical monsters. I need to identify them based on a data set I’m given.”

“Sounds interesting. Can I help?”

Resigning yourself to the fact that you weren’t going to get rid of him any time soon, you pull out the file you had put together.

“People who have no history of depression, anxiety, or suicidal tendencies are killing themselves one after the other. All of them said shortly before that a loved one had told them to go to them. All the loved ones are dead. So, I need to figure out which monster is responsible.”

Dean reached for the file, but you moved it out of his way. Your tale would fall apart if he saw the newspaper clippings.

Suspicion flickered in his eyes, but was quickly replaced with thought.

“A loved one calling out to them, luring them to their deaths,” he mused. Suddenly he sat up straight. “What were the exact words that the people heard?”

“Um, ‘Come to me,’ I think,” you replied, flipping through your notes. “Yeah.”

“It sounds like a crocotta,” Dean said. “They used to hide in the woods and call unsuspecting people to them by using the voice of a loved one. It would then eat their soul.”

Excitement building, you opened the lore book in front of you to the section on crocottas. Dean was right. Scanning your notes, you saw everything matched up. The best part? It said how to kill them. Somehow, a 16-year-old had solved a problem you’ve been wrestling with for a month.

“You got it!” You gathered up all your stuff and half-ran to the door, mentally running through a list of supplies you’ll need to catch the crocotta. You were out the door before you realized you had left Dean inside. Hesitating, you decided that preparing was more important than manners, and you continued to the place where you were squatting.

* * *

“I’m telling you, I don’t think she’s a monster,” Dean said again.

“You’re only saying that because you like her,” Sam snapped.

“She’s been in 4 situations in which she should have died, and she’s still walking,” John insisted. “She’s not human! We’re killing her, and that’s final.”

“How?” Sam asked. “I mean, if we don’t know what she is-”

“Then we try everything,” John stated. “We know she’s not a ghoul because she survived a headshot. So we either need to cut off her head or use silver. So we’ll cut off her head with a silver blade.”

Turning to Dean, he asked, “Are you going to be able to do this?”

After a brief moment, Dean lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go find her and tail her. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

* * *

Going back over the file, you were able to find the person who linked all the victims. They all employed the same handyman shortly before their deaths. Certain this was the crocotta, you set to working a pipe out from under the sink. Soon you had a crocotta-killer. It only took a few tries to figure out how to best create a point with an old rotary saw that you had found. Glancing at the clock, you hid the pipe under your jacket and head out to watch the suspect. You didn’t notice the boy following you.

  


Killing the thing went a lot smoother than you anticipated. He really wasn’t that bright. You simply walked in the door he conveniently left open and stabbed him from behind. You found his shovel, dug up his back garden, dumped him and covered him with his flowers. You were looking for bleach when you heard the snick of the front door. Slowly you stood up, hand going for your knife.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice said. A gun cocked. “What are you?”

“I’m the maid,” you lied. “And if you don’t tell me why you broke in-”

“Stop bluffing,” the man ordered. 

You shut up.

“You’ve died four times in the past month, yet here you are. So, what are you? Vampire? Werewolf?”

A sinking feeling began to build in you stomach. “I don’t know what-”

“Dad, I don’t think she is a monster,” a familiar voice said.

“Dean?” you asked in surprise as he came around the corner.

Dean’s eyes flickered over the scene, and you saw the moment he put everything together.

“That assignment wasn’t for school, was it? It was a case. You’re a hunter.”

Shocked, you just stared at him. This sixteen-year-old was a hunter? What kind of parent raised his kid in this life?

“I’m guessing whoever lives here was the crocotta, and you killed him. Judging by the stain on the floor, you were clearing up when we interrupted you.”

Dumbly, you nodded.

“Dean, enough,” the man said. “She’s something and it’s not a hunter. She should be dead but she’s not, and now she’s just killed a man!”

“But, Dad-”

“No, Dean. She dies.”

With that, a silver blade swung from behind and separated your head from your shoulders. Suddenly you couldn’t feel anything but falling, and then a sharp pain as your head hit the floor. 

* * *

After the family stuffed your body in their trunk (kindly putting your head next to your neck), you began reassembling yourself. The pain from the nerves, muscles, and bones reknitting caused you to black out. When you came to, back in one piece, the car was driving down what felt like a gravel road. Wincing, you reached up to the bobby pin you always kept in your hair only to find it had fallen out. Groaning, you settled down to wait.

After an hour or so, the car rolled to a stop. Tensing, you leapt out when the trunk opened, colliding with a very startled Sam. You both tumbled to the ground, and your stiff muscles made you slow in getting back up. The cold barrel of a gun against the back of your neck caused you to freeze in a crouch.

“What _are_ you?” asked Dean from in front of you, eyes wide.

“Human!” you insisted.

“No human I’ve ever met is immortal,” his dad said, but he removed the gun.

“You’re hunters, right?” They nodded. “So you know witches.” Another nod.

“I was cursed,” you explained, sitting with a _hmph_. “My lover died and her ma blamed me for it. She cursed me to live forever, experiencing loss for eternity.”

“So every time you die…” Dean said, realization dawning.

“I get put back together,” you finished. “And it bloody hurts, so don’t kill me again.”

“Dad,” Dean added, “it could be useful to have someone who can’t die with us.”

“Not now, Dean.”

“And I’ve wanted a sister,” Sam chimed in.

Their father looked from one pair of pleading eyes to the other, sighing.

“I’m John,” he said, putting his gun away and offering you his hand. “You’ve met Sam and Dean. How would you like a family that understands your world?”

Elated, you took it. Some forged paperwork later, and you became the eldest child of the Winchesters, and after a few years, and new forged documents, the middle, and then again a few years later, the youngest, as the boys aged but you didn’t.  


  


The three of you were thick as thieves, until the night of the fight, when Sam stormed off and went to Stanford. Though you would visit, you were never as close with him after that as you were with Dean. You stayed through the whole mess with Azazel, and the Apocalypse, and everything else that came your way, grateful for your new beginning.


End file.
